


Skyrim's new Arrival

by Skeletical



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer (Elder Scrolls), He isn't the dragonborn, Original Character-centric, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeletical/pseuds/Skeletical
Summary: Morornil has only just arrived in Skyrim from Cyrodiil but unfortunate adventure has already found him.A small one shot of my TES Altmer OC who for all intents and purposes is too soft for this land.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Skyrim's new Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mostly just posting this because I feel like I should and the writing is not too bad so yeah lmao

He’s unsure of how he got here  _ exactly _ . Sure, Morornil remembers telling his family goodbye, giving his mother a quick kiss to her cheek and his father a firm embrace and of course his little sister a final piggy back ride before he started his long trek to the far and cold Winterhold. He remembers that much. 

What he doesn’t remember, however, is how he ended up with his hands tied with the side of his face resting in the dirt. The altmer blinks his eyes a few times, looking past the big campfire where what looks to be a skewered skeever is roasting over the flames, and sees in the distance, a giant herding his mammoths. 

Immediately, sweat starts forming on the man’s golden skin. Those creatures could kill you in one swift hit of their ridiculously large weaponry. He’d seen people fly up into the skies, their bodies limp, and by the Eight did they go up high before crashing back down against the ground only to  _ splatter- _ Focus. 

He wiggles about for a moment then manages to sit upright. His mouth is awfully dry and his head is pounding, so he has somewhat of an idea what he got up to the evening prior… With a groan, he curses himself into the high heavens but he’s glad to find he’s still wearing his robes and his satchel is still securely hanging from his shoulder. 

Okay. Good. 

Now to make his great escape. 

The altmer glances around; seems like the only giant in this camp is busy way over there with his beasts. Too busy to be noticing a sneaky elf running off, surely… 

Hoping he’s not overestimating himself, Morornil struggles to his feet and quietly, inconspicuously, shuffles his way over to the edge of the camp. His eyes are constantly trained on the rather  _ large _ threat but once he reaches what he deems a safe enough distance, he turns and just runs. Runs as fast as he can, even with his hands bound. 

Now, he’s never been much of a fit man, if that’s what you want to call it. Point is, his stamina could use some work, but he never thought it important enough to bother with training it… So in only a minute, his breath is already starting to become laboured and he once again, curses his past self for not thinking ahead. 

Call it a miracle, and Morornil would be inclined to do so, but the elf manages to reach what looks like a small town down the road after endless (well maybe not endless, but quite a while, thank you) fleeing. It doesn’t appear to be any bigger than a handful of buildings but it will do more than adequately for his purposes. He’s gasping for air as he stumbles into the main and only street, lifting his arms and waving his hands about at a passing child. 

“Kid! Kiddo,” He says, swallowing back some bile before he continues, “Come here a moment, will you? I- I need your help.”

The girl looks at him with a raised eyebrow, clearly hesitant to help this panting stranger. Still, she takes a tentative step closer to him, “What do you want?” She demands, lifting her chin in defiance and Morornil would think it adorable if he weren’t hungover and in a pinch. 

“Listen, I got captured by a giant last night and I just made my daring escape but as you can see,” He wiggles his hands for good measure, drawing the child’s attention to the rope around his wrists, “I’m still a little tied up. Heh.”

She frowns, “Really?” She asks, looking doubtful. Good on her to be distrustful of strangers, especially in these dangerous times, but this really isn’t the time, obviously. Morornil would call himself the most trustworthy altmer out here, truly. 

“Yes,” He affirms, managing to stay patient despite, “Now, if you could do me the smallest of favors, I’ll give you a reward in return. All I need you to do, is reach into my satchel over here,” Morornil bumps his hip out, the satchel that’s resting there now attracting the girl’s eyes as the bottles inside clink against each other, “Grab the dagger there and cut the ropes, alright? I’ll give you some coin for it.”

The child huffs, looking like she just might decline his offer before she steps up to him fully and digs her tiny child hands into his bag, “Keep the gold, I want the dagger.” She says as she pulls the weapon out. There’s a tell-tale shimmer on the blade and Morornil knows exactly that’s why she wants it. 

“The enchantment isn’t anything good, really-”

The look she shoots him is enough to make him chuckle nervously and shrug his shoulders, “But you know, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get!”

Looks like he’ll be finding new soul gems after this endeavour to replace his dagger… Oh well. Things could be worse. 

Finally, the girl grabs onto his fist to keep him still and then cuts the ropes. As soon as the pressure is off of his wrists, Morornil sighs in relief. He runs his fingers over the rubbed-raw skin, massaging feeling back into it for a short moment before he turns his gaze back to his little helper. 

He grins down at her, “Well, I’d say you’ve earned that dagger, girl.” Morornil remarks and she looks happy with herself which is kind of nice, actually. She hides the weapon in her skirts and briefly, the altmer wonders how she’s going to manage to keep that hidden from her parents for long, but he says nothing of it. 

“Thanks, mister. Be safe on your travels now.” She tells him before she runs off, no doubt gone to find a place to inspect her new knife where no adults would bother her. 

Morornil probably made a mistake by letting her have a weapon but… Well, who could blame him, right? 

Right. 

The man moves to check his bag, takes inventory and groans when he sees he’s down almost all of his gold. Only a couple of pieces remain; ones that he hadn’t bothered to put back in the proper pouch. Now the entire pouch had gone missing and at least his laziness seems to have saved him from complete financial desperation. 

With another groan, he realises he’ll have to ask around this very town for some work if he wants to make it to his next stop on his way to Winterhold. 

With what feels like lead in his boots, Morornil wanders up to the first house he sees and spots the crops outside. A farm… He’d never worked on a farm in his life but hey, gold is gold. 

He knocks on the door, waits for the door to open and when it does, he smiles big and wide. The nord on the other side of the door looks disdainfully at him and before the elf can manage to utter a single word, she slams the door back in his face without pardon. 

Oh. Right. 

He’s in Skyrim.

The altmer huffs, reaching up to scratch at his hairline behind his pointed ear then just groans and takes his leave from the farm’s porch. Wasn’t like he was looking to pull weeds today anyway! 

He's only been in Skyrim for a few days, not even a week, but he'd been able to make good time. According to his map, he shouldn't be more than a days walk away from Whiterun! Well, who knows where he is exactly now. He can't see a sign that mentions this small settlement's name and the guards that just passed him don't seem interested in talking to an elf with the way their shoulders tensed when Morornil looked at them. 

He sighs. There was always the option of just breaking into a house and stealing some coin but he didn't really… want to do that. He doubts he's any good at it either. With his lanky limbs and shimmering skin tone. No, he'd be found out before he even set a foot inside, he's sure of it. 

So he huffs and puffs but ultimately decides to follow the road in the hopes that he'll find some poor unfortunate adventurer's corpse that hasn't been looted yet. A few gold pieces or some food couldn't hurt… Maybe he’d get lucky and happen upon another settlement where they had an inn where he could stay the night. The elf doubts that it’ll happen but one can hope.

The headache doesn't let up in the following hour and it's not until the altmer trips and hurts his ankle on a loose stone on the path that he remembers he knows restoration spells. Not many, true, but… enough to help him out here.

He casts healing, holds it until the pain in his ankle and head fade away into a pleasant warmth. 

Should’ve done that way sooner… The altmer drops his hand and shakes his head at himself. How foolish he was, sometimes.

He continues to follow the path until he reaches a fork in the road and finally, there’s some signs that tell him where he is, approximately. The information is hard to swallow though. The signs read ‘Markarth & Solitude’ on the left and on the right, it points to ‘Morthal & Whiterun’. By the Eight, that couldn’t be good. 

Hurriedly, Morornil pulls out his map and tries to pinpoint his location. He finds the fork on the map where is, curses and groans and generally simmers in his misery for a few minutes as he comes to terms with his situation. He’d ended up far to the west… Way off from his destination. Damn it all! How did that even happen? 

He recalls arriving in Riverwood with his spirits high; he’d crossed the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim the day prior and had decided to take a rest at the inn there… Celebrating with a drink. And then another. And another. Until… well.

How in the heavens had he ended up in that giant camp? Damn. 

With a defeated sigh, Morornil folds his map once more and puts it back in his bag, hesitating at the crossroad. Solitude wasn’t too far away and he had been planning on going to see the province’s capital but that would be after he’d gotten to the college in Winterhold… And to go to Winterhold, he’d be better off going through Whiterun. At this point, though, he was closer to Solitude than Whiterun. 

Ah, well, who cares about the plan. 

Taking a deep breath through his nose, the high elf turns his back on Whiterun and marches off into the direction of Solitude. 


End file.
